Flight through Time
by LyleRay
Summary: A hunt for a witch's coven goes very wrong and Sam must pay the price. Lost in time Sam struggles to survive in a violent, ancient world while Dean leads a search for his missing brother.
1. Chapter 1 - Morning in an Old World

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

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 **Flight through Time**

 **Chapter 1**

 **Morning in an Old World**

The huge, hairy and dirty man pushed at a bundle of rags half hidden in the straw with his foot.

"Come on, kid." He growled. "Get up."

"What do you have there, Grecco?" another voice intruded.

"Don't really know," the hairy guy answered. "I found him out bothering the horses last night and dragged him in here to take a look."

The bundle of rags rolled over exposing the sweet hairless face of a young boy. The child raised a hand to his head and rubbed at the blood in his hair. He opened his eyes and took in the two creatures staring at him. With a small shriek be scurried backwards, trying to get as far away as he could. His awkward scrambling flight ended against the rough wall of a crudely made horse shed.

"Good job, Grecco. He's still alive."

"What was I supposed to do, Anees?" The one called Grecco replied. "It could have been anything…a wolf, a gnome, a witch or even a spirit out of the hills."

"True, very true. In times like these we must be careful." Anees rubbed his unshaven chin then his still sleep laden eyes. He yawned then hunched down to look at the boy more closely.

Anees was not as big as Grecco but he definitely was good size. His muscles bunched, exposed by the minimal covering he wore. He had a loose, draped shirt of indeterminate color along with a very short skirt like covering over his privates.

Extending a calloused and dirt creased hand he captured the boy's chin and pulled the child's head up to get a better look.

The boy tossed his head from side to side and whimpered. His nose curled up and he hissed at Anees.

"Don't like how I smell, is that it boy?" The man let go of the child's soft face and stood up.

"I don't know why he was wandering in the dark but I'm sure this is no lost peasant child. He might not even be a native. He's too pretty and clean for these dirt grubbing savages."

"I think you should go get the Centurion, Grecco." Anees said. "I'll keep an eye on the boy. Go now."

Grecco left the barn. Anees was still crouched down, within arm's reach of the child. He put out his hand and grabbed the child by the back of his neck and pulled him closer. The child fought, clinging to the stable posts, drawing his soft hands over the rough wood but the man over powered him and drew the boy in close.

Anees breathed deeply. Even after a night under a rough woven blanket sleeping on a pile of straw, the boy still smelled clean, new and young. The soldier thought of his family so far away, in Rome. The boy reminded him of his oldest child. The soldier wondered if Paulus was safe and a longing for home made his gut clench.

When Grecco returned with the Centurion Anees was still holding the boy in his arms.

"Anees," Grecco called out. "Let him go. Make him stand up. Centurion Polonius wants to take a look."

The boy pulled away from his captor and stood straight and proud, wrapped in the coarse blanket.

The Centurion was a middle aged man with calculating eyes. You did not rise easily through the ranks. You had to be clever and good at pleasing your superiors. Sometime in the past perhaps being a good warrior had been enough but the Centurion doubted it.

"Come here, boy," Polonius barked.

The boy said nothing but watched the man's face and hands for clues. He took a cautious step forward, careful to stand just out of comfortable reach.

"Take off the blanket." The man ordered and dipped his hand. The boy stood confused.

"He doesn't speak?" Polonius asked Grecco.

"I haven't heard a word since I found him last night. He makes sounds so he probably can speak. He just doesn't know the language, I guess." Grecco shrugged. The boy was not his problem any longer.

The Centurion suddenly stepped forward and grabbed the boy's blanket, jerking it off. The child stumbled at the unexpected assault and fell to the ground.

There was silence as the men stare at the child's body. The boy was snowy clean even after a night spent on the straw of a stable. He wore a clinging, sleeveless top and soft, billowing white pants closed at the top with a drawstring. Such clothing appeared foreign, strange to the Romans. The boy also had strange tattooed patterns on his upper arms and seamless thin gold bands around his wrists.

"I don't think he's a Roman, "Polonius finally said. "Perhaps I should take him along to Iranis, He is the legion's commander, the legatus legionis. He will have some idea of what to go with the boy.

Taking hold of the boy's arm the Centurion pulled him along behind him through the legion's camp.

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"Frigging witches," Dean complained. He had his band wrapped around the young witch's neck. "Where the hell is my brother?" He shook her literally until her teeth clacked together.

"Let her breathe, Dean." Andy laid his hand on Dean's arm. "She can't tell you squat dead. Let her breathe."

Last night Sam and Dean and a new Hunter Garth had introduced them to, Andy Larch, had gone hunting for a coven in Amesbury, Connecticut. It was supposed to be a cake walk. The coven was young and stupid. Their senior witch was old, old, old and losing her mind after years of self-inflicted abuse.

The coven had been easy to find. They couldn't even hide well. The Hunters had seen the fire easily that had been kindled in the wooded grove. The three men, Dean, Sam and Andy, had charged in, machetes swinging and guns firing. It had not taken but a minute to shut the ritual down. The witches left alive had scattered, leaving their dead Coven leader behind, bleeding out in the fallen leaves under the winter stripped trees.

Dean had immediately gone to the woman tied down as the blood sacrifice on the rough stone alter and cut her bonds. She was naked and the charming witches had carved symbols into her delicate belly skin. Her blood flowed down her sides, staining the stone.

Dean had turned away from her when he heard Sam cry out. The last thing he expected was for the victim to smack him in the back of the head with the neared tree branch she could reach. She hit him just right, more luck than skill, and he fell momentarily helpless to his knees.

When Dean regained his senses and the world stopped spinning, he realized that Andy had come back to take down the blood stained woman. She was now face down in the autumn leaves, like her coven leader.

"Thanks, Andy," Dean allowed the other Hunter to help him stand. "Where's Sam?"

"I don't know," Andy said. "He was right in front of me, chasing one of the coven. She turned and hit him in the face with something; a hex bag or curse or something, and he disappeared." Andy was vibrating with tension.

"I've got her over there, tied to a tree. You want to try and talk to her?"

Dean strode over to the woman kneeling with her head on a tree trunk. Andy had pulled her arms around the tree and tied them together. She wasn't going anywhere.

Dean wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her head around to face him. "Where the hell is my brother?"

The witch was young. She was pale and frightened. It looked like she was just realizing that this stuff was real. Tears started coursing through the ashes she had smeared on her face. Dean knew the ashes ritual. It was to keep the witch's fragile human body safe from other demons. They could not see through her mask. Only her personal demon could find her, or that was the superstition.

"I don't know." She cried. "I don't know where he went."

Dean shook her again then tossed her head against the tree trunk.

"You better come up with something better than that," he snarled. "What happened to my brother?"

"He scared me." She was crying harder than ever. "He was so big and dark and he had that giant knife." She was shaking so hard it was difficult to understand her.

Dean gritted his teeth. "What did you do?" he barked. "Where's Sammy?"

"I don't know." She cried. "Please let me go, I don't know where he went. I threw the bag at him and I heard words whispered in my ear."

"Discedite, fugite, go in lucem, sit parvulus adeo pridem"

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean growled and slammed the witch's head into the trunk of the tree again. "Where's my brother?"

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"What do you want me to do, Dean?" Andy asked looking around at the ritual site. While they had been talking to Andy's captive the ritual sacrifice had evidently go to her feet and run after the fleeing witches. Now they had one body and one captive to deal with.

"Don't worry about it Andy." Dean replied. "I'll take care of it. Thanks for your help and tell Garth I'll call him later. Right now I have to concentrate on finding Sam."

"If you're sure, Dean, I'm glad to stay if you want." Andy replied while wiping down his blade before putting it away.

"I'm pretty sure this coven is toast." Dean shrugged. "We took out the crazy old witch, the rest ran away and I've got the trouble maker right here. I sure as hell don't want to chase the rest of these women through town. Somebody will notice me chasing them for sure."

"Ok, Dean," Andy saluted and headed for his car.

Dean turned back to the witch. Staring at her huddled against the tree he called Bobby Singer.

Dean explained the situation to the older Hunter.

"Damn, boy, you've got yourself quite the problem." Bobby commented after hearing the story. "Do you believe the witch? Does she really not know what she did?'

"I'm telling you Bobby, this one is worthless." Dean glared over at the woman shackled to the tree.

"Boy, I think you should come on up this way and let me try a location spell on your brother. I don't know of anything else to suggest." Bobby paused. "I'll need something personal from each witch. The crazy old girl's body's still there, right?"

"Right here, Bobby. I haven't gotten around to burning her yet. I thought I'd call you first."

"Well get her blood, if you can. It would be easier if it was still liquid but do what you can. The other might be a problem. She's evidently got some juice even if she doesn't know how to use it. How do you feel about cutting her loose? She could be dangerous if she keeps this stuff up."

Dean looked back over at the witch. "What's your name, witch?" he growled.

"Mary Fable," she replied.

"You're telling me." Dean glared. "What do you think, Mary Fable, are you going to keep this stuff up or are you going to be looking for a new hobby? Tell the truth."

"Please, just let me go," her voice quavered. "I'll never even talk to any of these women again. I just want to go home. I don't want to hear the word witch for the rest of my life."

Dean shook his head. "Nice try. You know you've now got a demon interested in you, right? Where did you think that spell came from, Tinkerbell? If I were you I'd try hanging out around churches from now on."

Mary began to cry.

"Well Bobby," Dean turned back to the phone. "Right now she's terrified. I think she'll say anything I want to hear."

"If that's her wailing in the background, this next part will make her faint." Bobby snorted. "You need to get some of her blood too for me. Just cut her and catch the blood on a piece of her clothing. She is dressed, right?"

"Of course she's dressed." Dean responded. "It wasn't that kind of a party, old man."

"Don't' be a smart mouth, boy," Bobby barked back. "It's fairly common for covens to perform rituals naked, you know."

"God, I hate witches," was Dean's response.

"Well, get on your horse boy," Bobby ordered. "You need to get here as soon as you can with the blood. Sam is getting further and further away with each passing minute. People and things get lost in space all the time but they also get lost in time. The longer you take, the further away Sam is going to drift.


	2. Chapter 2 - Movement Through Space

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

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 **Flight through Time**

 **Chapter 2**

 **Movement through Space**

 **From Chapter 1**

" _God, I hate witches," was Dean's response._

" _Well, get on your horse boy," Bobby ordered. "You need to get here as soon as you can with the blood. Sam is getting further and further away with each passing minute. People and things get lost in space all the time but they also get lost in time. The longer you take, the further away Sam is going to drift_.

 **Chapter 2**

Dean dropped his cell phone back in his pocket and pulled out his thin silver knife. Rubbing the smooth blade on his face he stared at the Witch. It appeared he was almost meditating whether to either cut her or kill her outright.

The Witch was still shackled to the tree and yelling her head off. "Please, I'm sorry. Don't hurt me. I promise, never again …" the closer Dean hovered the louder she got.

He waved the knife in her face. The silver blade glittered in the moonlight. "You don't have any idea where my brother is, right Mary Fable? You swear you can't bring him back?" He cocked his head to the side and considered her carefully.

The woman was openly weeping now. "I would if I could, I swear. Please, please don't hurt me."

"Oh for pity's sake, shut the hell up." Dean groaned. "I don't how why someone like you could even get the guts to think about becoming a witch. Here," he reached out and unlocked the handcuffs Andy had used to lock her arms around the tree. "Give me your damned hand."

She squealed and backed away but he had a firm grip on one wrist. Peeling her fingers back him flipped his knife into position and slashed her palm open. She started bleeding like a waterfall and screaming like a banshee. He held her hand up as she struggled and let the blood pool in her lap.

When he felt that there was enough blood for Bobby's spell he ripped the front of her skirt off and let her run away. Rolling the bloody fabric into a ball he put it aside and took a look at mess he had to clean up. He also had more blood to gather. He looked around and decided he'd go to the car and get a beer bottle, empty if he had one. He could deal with a full one easily. Bobby had asked for liquid blood. Dean wondered if beer would function as an anti-coagulant. If Bobby didn't want beer in his blood Dean figured that was the old man's problem. Dean just wanted Sam back.

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Bobby Singer was wiser than he realized. Far away in both space and time the strange boy was led through the Roman Legion's camp. He saw tents and cooking fires; men in armor and men in rags. The place smelled of cooking meat, boiling soups, horse manure and sweating, unwashed men. Confused and dazed he simply followed the one they had called the Centurion with no idea of where they were going or why.

They finally stopped moving in front of a large striped tent. Compared to the thread bare and muddy colored tents they had just walked through this was a place of splendor. It still stank. It was dirty and barely standing against a brisk early morning wind.

The Centurion held the tent flap aside and motioned the boy forward.

Inside were three men seated on low stools and eating from crude flat plates with their fingers. They pushed chunks of meat around in a glutinous looking gravy then shoved the food in their mouths, licking their greasy fingers clean.

"What's this, Polonius?" the man in the middle asked.

Polonius bowed. "One of the guards found this boy last night in among the horses. They called me this morning to the horse sheds to hand him over. I thought you would like to take a look at him, Iranis. As our Legatus Legionis you should decide what to do with him."

"Bring him closer, Polonius "

The Centurion pushed the boy closer to the three men.

"Well, what have we here?" Iranis rose to his feet to take a closer look, wiping his hand on his tunic. When he got within reach he clasped his hand under the boy's chin and raised the child's head.

"It is good you have brought him here, Centurion. I don't know who he is or why he was bothering the horses but this is no common find. I'm sure someone is looking for such a pretty morsel. Just leave him here. I'll keep him safe until we find where he belongs."

Polonius bowed and backed out of the tent, leaving his prize behind. He had no intention of forgetting about the boy. If some rich Roman appeared looking for the boy Polonius was sure he could get his share of any bounty offered. After all, he was the leader of a hundred men. That was a hundred pairs of eyes.

Back in the tent Iranis pointed to a small cross legged stool to the side of the tent. The boy understood that he was to sit and followed the order. There was a burst of Latin and the man in charge stuck his head through the tent flap. In a moment another man appeared with an additional plate of meat which he handed to the boy.

The one called the Legatus Legionis slapped his chest and grunted out "Iranis." He then pointed at the boy.

"Sam." The child answered quickly and then proceeded to delicately poke at his chunks of cooked meat.

Iranis stepped closer to his young captive and seemed to inventory the boy. The man lightly ran his fingers through the boy's soft, clean hair. The tattooed bands on the boy's arms were inspected closely, both sides. This close the Roman could tell that the outside edges of each band were made up of a frieze of letters, possibly inscriptions or prayers, the man thought. Finally the Legatus seized one of the boy's hands and ran his fingers over the gold bracket on Sam's wrist. This was very obviously gold and the Roman tugged at the band, endeavoring to pull it off.

To Iranis' surprise the band would not break or even twist. The boy jerked his arm back when Iranis tried too hard and barked "No!" in the Roman's face. Iranis was not sure if he was more surprised at the strength of the band or at the bravery of the child.

The man drew his arm back to strike the child in the face and was surprised when he somehow landed flat on his back. The child had used a sweep move to knock the man's feet out from under him and then the boy had retreated to the back wall of the tent. Out of seemingly nowhere a wicked sharp child size dagger had appeared. The boy waved it in front of him.

"Well, it looks like the boy has a stinger, Iranis." one of the other men laughed. "It might be wise to let him be until you find out who he belongs to. This boy has been trained early in battle arts. You might have a patrician's child here."

Iranis raised himself up on his elbows in the dirt. "He may have been trained in battle but he needs to learn to respect his elders." The man grumbled. "I'll leave him for now but I won't forget this episode. I'll teach him manners myself if no one comes to claim him."


	3. Chapter 3 - Brother Mine

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

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 **Flight through Time**

 **Chapter 3**

 **Brother Mine**

 **From Chapter 2**

 _The man drew his arm back to strike the child in the face and was surprised when he somehow landed flat on his back. The child had used a sweep move to knock the man's feet out from under him and then the boy had retreated to the back wall of the tent. Out of seemingly nowhere a wicked sharp child size dagger had appeared. The boy waved it in front of him._

" _Well, it looks like the boy has a stinger, Iranis." one of the other men laughed. "It might be wise to let him be until you find out that he belongs to. This boy has been trained early in battle arts. You might have a patrician's child here."_

 _Iranis raised himself up on his elbows in the dirt. "He may have been trained in battle but he needs to learn to respect his elders." The man grumbled. "I'll leave him for now but I won't forget this episode. I'll teach him manners myself if no one comes to claim him."_

 **Chapter 3**

The other Romans were still snickering at the sight of the proud Legatus Legionis flat on his back on the dirt floor.

Iranis stood up and dusted himself off glaring equally at his cluster of friends and at the boy pressed against the back wall of the tent waving a knife.

"Fine," he barked. "If the little son of a whore wants a battle I'll give him one." The centurion stomped over to the child picking up his shield from the pile of weapons in the middle of the tent. Now protected he easily avoided the boy's knife and knocked the child's arm to the side. Wrapping his free arm around the boy's neck he lifted and clutched the kicking child to his chest. Already the boy was gasping for breath.

He dropped the child back on the three legged stool with a crash. The boy threw his head back and inhaled great gulps of air.

Iranis grabbed the boy's head and shook. "Now you do what I tell you." The man shouted and pushed the boy over backwards. The child sprawled in the dirt now not as clean as he had been when he entered the tent.

"Look what you've done, Iranis," one of the men laughed. "Now he's all dirty and not nearly as pretty as before."

Iranis growled and kicked the stool into the child's side. Pointing at the seat, "Get up." He ordered.

Rubbing the back of his head the boy set the stool upright and climbed on. He glanced at his spilled plate of meat then looked away. He dropped his head, rested his elbows on his knees and surrendered, all the fight drained out of him.

One of Iranis' friends stood up and left the tent, pinning back the tent flap to let the morning light in and the breeze to circulate.

Iranis ignored the boy and prepared himself for the day's work. Soon soldiers would be coming to strike the tent and pack the contents up. The legion was moving. A rotation was scheduled for these men. They had been camped near Avebury for months waiting for orders to move south to the coast. They were going home to Rome.

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Dean pulled the Impala up Bobby Singer driveway. Passing under the Singer Salvage archway was like coming home. He and Sam had grown up playing among the rusting car hulks. Dean had wandered the yard doing his share for Bobby's business. He had often been given a list of parts, a tool box and been told to "Go find."

He threw the Impala's door open and dragged the water proof sports bag from the passenger seat; Bobby was standing on the raised porch waiting for him. The roar of the Impala's engine, the normal squeak of the Impala's unfixable hinge, these were the 'Dean's home' alerts..

"Hello, boy," Bobby waved an open beer bottle. "Come on up."

Dean tugged the sports bag over his shoulder and mounted the stairs. He knew the drill well. Bobby handed him the beer and Dean gulped down the cool, crisp, holy water diluted liquid. Bobby nodded and pushed open the screen door, inviting Dean in.

Once Dean passed over the Devil's Trap at the entrance Bobby hugged him then pounded his back.

"So you lost Sam, did you?" Bobby huffed. "Idjit."

"Come on Bobby." Dean replied. "It wasn't on purpose. I don't think anyone could have predicted that the coven could do such a thing. Have you ever heard of a witch pulling off dematerialization? And it's not even that. If Sam was just invisible I know he'd get me a message. Sam's smarter than those scuzzy witches. He would have figured something out if he could."

"I'm not blaming you, boy." Bobby said. "You're right. This is weird. You have blood samples from both witches with you?"

Dean nodded and hoisted the bag off his shoulder, handing it off to Bobby.

The lore master unzipped the bag and saw the bloody fabric and the partially filled beer bottle inside.

Bobby snorted. "Good idea, blood with a beer chaser. Just might work. I don't think the beer's going to be much of a problem for the locater spell I'm going to use. Let's get started and get it over with."

"Give me a minute to hit the head, Bobby." Dean complained. "It' been a long ride. I need a minute."

"OK, tend to your business boy and then meet me in the library." Bobby went off down the hallway in one direction and Dean went the other way.

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When Dean walked into the library a few minutes later Bobby was already set up and ready to go. He had a large parchment map of the world laid out on the scrying table to the side of the fire place and had already rubbed the young witch's blood stain skirt fragment all over the paper, give the map a ruddy glow. When Dean entered Bobby poured the still liquid old witch's blood with its beer chaser into a heavily decorated gleaming brass bowl.

"Give me your band, Dean." Bobby said and pulled out his delicate silver knife, sharp as a razor. He sliced Dean's palm and directed the dripping blood into the bowl. "That gives me a connection to Sam."

Bobby added some herbs from a paper spill, swirled everything together and poured the resulting concoction over the map. With a muttered invocation the man dripped wax from a black candle on to the mess and it all burst into flame. The map burned and curled and disappeared all but a tiny piece left smoldering on the scrying rock table top. Bobby leaned over and looked at the scrap.

"Well, South Western England." He said. "Isn't that a kick in the pants?"

"What?" Dean said in surprise. "Sam's in England? How the hell did that happen?"

"Boy, I don't know." Bobby shook his head. "You sure these were just regular, human witches? Right?"

"Absolutely, Bobby," Dean replied. "Sam traced them down to their Social Security numbers. One of them was an elementary school teacher. One worked in the county clerk's office."

"Well, something happened and I don't see any witch pulling this kind of power. Ever if they were wedded to a full-fledged demon that wouldn't definitively give them the demon's power. Besides, Sam may be in the United Kingdom but there's something else interfering with the tracking spell."

"What do you see, Bobby?" Dean asked. "How can I find my brother?"

"I'm no psychic, Dean," Bobby said slowly "but I should be able to read a tracking spell. There's something interfering with this one. It's distorted, faint. It's almost like Sam is even farther away than just England. I think we have real problem here."

"What can we do?"

"Boy I think you better call in the heavy guns. Does that Angel still respond when you pray? We need his kind of help I think."

Bobby wiped his hands with a cloth from his pocket. "You better go wash and bandage that cut, Dean. Then you better get to praying. I've done all I can do for you."


	4. Chapter 4 - Riding Near Avebury

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Flight through Time**

 **Chapter 4**

 **Riding Near Avebury**

 **From Chapter 3**

" _I'm no psychic, Dean," Bobby said slowly "but I should be able to read a tracking spell. There's something interfering with this one. It's distorted, faint. It's almost like Sam is even farther away than just England. I think we have real problem here."_

" _What can we do?"_

" _Boy I think you better call in the heavy guns. Does that Angel still respond when you pray? We need his kind of help I think."_

 _Bobby wiped his hands with a cloth from his pocket. "You better go wash and bandage that cut, Dean. Then you better get to praying. I've done all I can do for you."  
_

 **Chapter 4**

The tent went down around the boy sitting on the three legged stool. A soldier came in to pack up the contents for Iranis. Throwing clothing, blankets and pillows into loose bags the soldier kept an eye on the quiet child sitting with a bowed head.

"You better get up and move, boy." The man finally growled. "The Legatus Legionis wants you to travel with the rest of the baggage.

The boy looked up at this new player. In broken Latin with an accent the soldier could not identify the bay said, "Movement, travel, horse." He paused then continued, "Ocean, water?"

"To the coast, as if it was any of your business. You'll go where ever the Legatus wants you to go. You've been claimed and until someone of higher rank comes along to claim you from Iranis you belong to him." The soldier scanned the tent. "Come with me. I'll get you on a horse before the rest of this stuff gets packed up. If all this gets loaded on the backs of those miserable ponies you'll end up walking all the way to the sea. Come along." With that the soldier grabbed by boy by one arm and pulled him out of the tent.

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Outside was a scene of planned chaos. Tents were falling; men were yelling at each other, servants were loading possessions on the backs of disinterested pack animals. Departure was in the air. This camp was dissolving, disappearing. In another hour all that would be left would be trampled mud and fetid latrines. All the power and strength of a Roman military camp would be gone. Only debris would be left to mark the place where hundreds of men had lived for the past six months.

Sam was lead along by his latest minder. He longed to be gone. The smells, noise and persistent movement was wearing him down. He longed to be free of these men. It had been interesting to a student of history for some time but now it was simply becoming uncomfortable. The food was disgusting and there was not much of it. Boiled meat and watery gravy was not a diet Sam wished to become accustomed to. He suspected the meat to perhaps be horse. It might be what happened to these pack animals when their useful life span ran out. It would make sense. Northing would be allowed to go to waste in a camp like this.

These people never seemed to wash. Even a brief dunking in a nearby stream would have helped cut down the constant stink of too many men, in too small a space for too long a time. Even the officers, the Centurions and the Legatus all had a sour smell about them.

Sam's complaints were put aside when he was lifted onto the back of one of the shaggy ponies. The saddle was a simple strip of leather over a blanket. The ends of the strap were threaded through a buckle and prong device that really hadn't changed much in two thousand years. Sam's hands were loosely tied with another strip of leather wrapped around the primitive saddle and simple reins lead to a halter. There was no bit in the pony's mouth. Sam assumed the pony had been trained, as were most pack animals, to just follow the tail of the animal in front. There was no prancing to control. The reins were there for the benefit of a possible rider, not for controlling the horse.

Sam sat quietly. In his bright white clothing and golden bands he stood out in the dun colored pack train, a single spot of color. He stared back at every pair of eyes that landed on him and there were a lot of eyes looking; measuring, weighing his worth. He was on display, something of value found in this primitive land. The army was always on the hunt for loot in these forsaken places. This particular trip had been very disappointing so far.

After sitting in the sun for far too long there finally was movement. The massed pack train turned their heads to the south and slowly moved out of the broken camp, headed for the ocean seventy five miles away. Sam was still not sure exactly where he was and he had no idea how he had come to the place. The additional question of why he was a prepubescent boy dressed in while with tattoos and coveted gold bands on his arms was another mystery. The only thing he knew for sure was that his name was Sam Winchester. Other than that he was completely bewildered.

The pack train moved slowly through the landscape. Sam used the time to sort through the fragments of memory rattling around in his head. He finally remembered a bonfire, dancing woman and powder thrown in his face. Through his watering eyes the last thing he saw was the face of a woman who looked so surprised he wanted to reach out and calm her down.

He remembered his brother calling out his name. Another fragment recovered, he cheered. He had a brother and his brother's name was Dean. After that there was only darkness and a feeling of falling, falling with a shower of sand falling with him. He and the shifting sand had fallen together through a silent universe. The next time he had opened his eyes he had been lying on a bed of leaves looking at a row of horses tied to a picket rope.

Sam was sunk so far into his memories that only a hand smacking him on the leg broke his concentration. Throwing his head up he found himself looking into the eyes of the man called Iranis, the Roman Legatus Legionis.

Iranis laughed at the shocked look on the boy's face. "Sleeping, are you?"

Sam caught at the meaning of the words. His church Latin was coming back to him. Pulling the words wrapped in prayers and fitting them into everyday speech was like doing a crossword puzzle in a foreign language but he was making progress. The accents took a little handling but slowly be was beginning to understand what the men were saying. He was not yet confident enough to start forming his own replies but at least he was not sitting out in the cold, mystified by what was going on around him any longer.

Iranis turned the head of his much larger horse back to the front of the line and rode away. He had only been checking on the boy. The child was Iranis's only hope of turning a profit on this disaster of an expedition. They had conquered nothing of note, just more of these painted forest savages. They had gained no new settlements for the glory of Rome and the Gods knew they had not found any treasure. This oddly dressed and suspiciously clean child was the man's last hope.

Once they were loaded on the boats and on their way back to Rome Iranis believed he would have plenty of time to teach the boy manners; to make him respect his elders and, most of all, tell the Legatus exactly who he was. The man was sure he could open those pretty soft lips and get the boy to tell him everything he wanted to know. If there was nothing else the boy would make a fine addition to the stable of male child slaves that lived in his villa.

There were plenty of Romans who paid Iranis for access to those boys. It was an acceptable part of Roman life, the pairing of men and boys. Yes, Iranis was sure this oddly tender child would be worth his weight in gold once he was properly trained.

Sam was awake and fully aware. He looked around at the passing scene. There wasn't that much to look at. They were just coming out of the woodlands on to a long gently undulating plain that stretched away to the horizon. The air was so clear he felt like he could see for miles. The air even smelled pure. This was the world new born. If not new born it was at least unsullied.

Slowly the pack train moved over the face of the world. Sam decided that the ground under his pony's hooves appeared to be quite chalky. The animal's hooves would occasionally cut through a thin grassy layer and a flash of white would appear.

Every now and then they would come across huge flat rocks, many feet long, lying on the slopes of some of the northerly hills. As Sam stared at the roughly smoothed surfaces pounded flat by years of rain, snow and exposure a word floated to the front of his mind. Sarsen, these stones were called Sarsens.

Sam sat up straight and peered as far to the south as he could. The pure clarity of the air helped a great deal. Finally he found what he was expecting. Far off, on a slight rise above the surrounding plain he could see standing stones in a circle. He could also see stones in a line, pointing a path to the circle. He knew he was looking at one of the world's great Neolithic temples. He was looking at Avebury on the Wilshire plains in ancient Briton. At least he now knew where he was.

The geography of the world slid smoothly into his head. Looking closer to home he also realized the significance of Romans riding through this landscape. As well as he could remember Rome sent forces into Briton during the first century A.D. He now knew where he was and evidently when he was. The only thing he need to know now was why. Why was he here?

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

In Sioux Falls, South Dakota in the twentieth century Dean Winchester prayed to his Angel. He had not called on Castiel very much lately but this was in the nature of an emergency.

The whisper of Angel wings filled the room. "Dean," the gravel voiced Angel said. "Do you need me? Do you need help?"

Dean turned to his friend. It had been a while. Castiel had been off to Heaven dealing with Heaven's problems, leaving Dean and Sam on their own. He was, after all, only one Angel and the demands on his time seemed occasionally unreasonable. So often the seraph had to prioritize but in his heart he always felt the problems of the Winchester boys had first call.

"How can I help, Dean?" He repeated.

"I'm sorry to bother you Cas," Dean said. "I know you are busy."

"Dean," Castiel come closer and dropped his hand on Dean's shoulder. "You must know by now that your problems always come first with me. Now how can I help?"

"Cas," Dean said sadly. "I lost Sam."

Dean laid the whole story out for the Angel with as much detail as he could remember. Who knew what would be important in the Angel's eyes?

Finally Castiel stood over Bobby Singer's desk and looked at the tracking spell.

"It didn't work, Cas," Bobby said. "I don't understand. That spell always works. I've never had it fail before. It works 100% of the time, all the time"

Castiel shook his head. "You're wrong Bobby," he said. "You spell worked, it worked just fine. Sam is in Briton, right where you have scried. The problem with the reading is that you are only reading in three dimensions. You need to read it in four."

"Four dimensions, Cas?" Bobby took in a deep breath. "Isn't the fourth dimension time? Do you mean to say that Sam is lost in space and in time?"

"Exactly," Castiel replied. "This is very odd."

Castiel looked into Dean Winchester's eyes. "Dean, you are sure this was a human witch? You described her to me as an untrained, almost innocent witch, unaware of her powers and unable to control them. Is that right?"

"Yes," Dean answered firmly. "That's how it went down. We killed the crazy old witch but the one we talked to did throw the powder into Sam's eyes and said she heard the words of power spoken out of the empty air."

Castiel looked back at Bobby's map. "As I aid, this is very odd. No human should have been able to accomplish such an incredible spell, no matter how highly powered. Something else interfered with the working of this spell."

"Well, Cas." Dean interrupted the Angel's musings. "What can we do about it? Can we get Sammy back?"

Cas stepped away from the desk. "Oh, yes. We can get Sam back. Right now is a very auspicious time to do so. Sam is approaching one of the great power nexus of the human world. He seems to be going directly to the Avebury temple. We can meet him there and save him from this entanglement. "


	5. Chapter 5 - Traveling to Avebury

-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Flight through Time**

 **Chapter 5**

 **Traveling to Avebury**

 **From Chapter 4**

 _Castiel looked back at Bobby's map. "As I aid, this is very odd. No human should have been able to accomplish such an incredible spell, no matter how highly powered. Something else interfered with the working of this spell."_

" _Well, Cas." Dean interrupted the Angel's musings. "What can we do about it? Can we get Sammy back?"_

 _Cas stepped away from the desk. "Oh, yes. We can get Sam back. Right now is a very auspicious time to do so. Sam is approaching one of the great power nexus of the human world. He seems to be going directly to the Avebury temple. We can meet him there and save him from this entanglement. "_

 **Chapter 5**

Sam was becoming more and more uncomfortable on the back of the stiff gated pack pony. The entire baggage train was moving so slowly he was afraid there wouldn't be any skin left on his thighs by the end of the day. In addition there had been no rest stop for hours and he was getting very thirsty.

For out on the horizon Avebury's stone circle had been growing closer but at the rate they were moving by night fall if would still be miles away. No one seemed to be paying a lot of attention to him and he wondered if it would be possible to make a break for it. He had no idea at all what he would do if he made it to Avebury but he had high hopes.

If Dean was looking for him and he had to believe that his brother would look for him there would be more of a chance he could be found near or inside a historically significant structure like Avebury. He just wanted as far as he could get from these crude stinking soldiers. He worked the leather strap around his wrists loose.

Over the next few miles Sam gradually slipped lower and lower on the pony, pretending to be sleeping uncomfortably on the pony's neck. What he was really doing was lowering the level of his head so that he wouldn't suddenly just disappear if someone was watching. While passing through some taller than usual grasses along a ridge top he simply slipped off the side of the shaggy pony and hit the ground.

The pack train shuffled along without a break in rhythm and no one seemed to notice that the boy in white had disappeared. His pony continued along, following the tail of the pony before him. No one noticed the change.

Crouching low he moved carefully through the field. As soon as he reached thicker brush he speeded up his movements. It was late afternoon and he could not afford to lose sight of Avebury. He didn't want to spend the night out in the open fields. The stone circle didn't offer much hope of shelter but it appeared to be the only option to spending a night in the woods.

Field mice and other small rodents rustled away in the grasses. He worried about the birds overhead. He could see them diving on the sudden rush of small vermin but then they cut their dives short and flited away, cawing and cackling. If anyone in the pack train was a seasoned hunter the man would know that there was something in the field that the birds did not like. Their abortive dives were like an arrow pointing directly at Sam's position in the grass.

Fifteen minutes or more had passed before he dared poke his head above the level of the vegetation to see that the pack train still moving away from him. No alarm had sounded and the riders out in front guiding the pack animals still semi-dozed in the afternoon heat.

It seemed to Sam that he was moving faster than the baggage train. Of course, he was trying to escape. The train was simply trying to survive the long trek to the sea. The further apart they got the safer Sam was from pursuit. If he could make a half mile to a mile distance before any type of alarm was raised there would be almost too much area for the Romans to search. Now his concern was to leave no trail or, at least, as little trail as possible.

The ground was rising slowly and here and there he found himself approaching some of the large flat stones scattered on the hillsides that he had noticed previously. Much to his surprise, as he rounded the end of one of the immense rocky slabs he came face to face with a very surprised native. The man was small and dark and half his face was painted blue. Sam recognized one of the Picts, people native to prehistoric Britian. He and the man faced off and carefully circled each other.

The Pict warrior was armed with a crude ax and a simple bow with arrows carefully fletched with bird feathers. He had been keeping watch on the baggage train, Sam thought. The boy wondered just how many of these hidden warriors might be lurking on the grassy plain.

There was a cry from the pack train and Sam and the Pict simultaneously checked the source. Sam saw one of the Roman soldiers leading the train charge off to chase something in the tall grass. Another Pict burst out of hiding and the man dodged through the high grass, pursued by the soldier.

As Sam watched the other soldiers were drawn off, joining the chase, leaving the train momentarily unguarded. From the rear multiple dark figures emerged from hiding and took down the end of the train. Servants were slaughtered silently, throats cut if they were male. The woman were hastily lashed to the ponies, either riding or pulled along and the ponies lead off to the eastern side of the trial, heading into the trees.

Sam's Pict gave him another glance and then ran to join his friends. Sam was pleased. Let the Romans chase the Picts. He was moving south west and the Picts were leading their stolen treasures off to the east. He could not have asked for better cover.

He stood up straight, relieving the pressure on his back and ran directly toward the setting sun. The last of the sun's rays illuminated the stones of Avebury and the ceremonial roadway leading to the entrance to the sacred site. He aimed for the temple and ran as fast as his exhausted body could move. Every moment of sunlight was precious. Far off he could hear the cries of men fighting.

Taking a swift glance over his shoulder he caught the briefest look at the Romans swinging their swords and riding hard after the escaping Picts and their plunder.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Back in Sioux Falls the Angel Castiel had just given Dean Winchester hope. The Angel seemed very sure that he could bring Sam back to his brother. The question of how Sam had been taken and by who was unresolved but Dean felt all that could be settled once his brother was back by his side.

"So, Cas" Dean stared in to the angel's eyes. "When you said we did you mean that you and I are going to go get Sam or what? How do we get Sammy back? And how do we know it won't just happen again?"

Castiel was inspecting Bobby's scrying g table once more, flicking small pieces of ash off the surface and delicately touching the patterns left behind by the burned map. "I'm very sure we can find Sam. I can go by myself if you like or you can come with me. I'm at full heavenly power now. My Grace has been restored. Transporting myself and two passengers through time will not be a problem, I assure you."

"Well, that's good," Bobby spoke up from the other side of the table. "Sure would hate to see you guys stuck half way. I gotta' say, however, the last time I saw you pull this time traveling stunt you were out cold on a bed just like a real boy for a couple of days, Cas. Are you sure this is safe?"

"Thank you, Bobby." Castiel smiled. "I appreciate your concern for my wellbeing. I assure you however that currently I am much, much stronger than I was at that time. It is not the time passage that I am concerned about. I more wonder how this happened. There is definitely something here I don't understand. These everyday witches should not have been able to complete this spell. Someone much more powerful had to have intervened. I need to know who that is and why they did it to be able to assure Dean not only of Sam's future safety but also our own."

The Angel moved closer to the table and lowered his head. He was staring at the tiny slip of paper left by the flames. Its edges were blacked and curling and the whole slip was barely an inch by two inches but the Seraph seemed to find it extremely interesting.

"What's up, Cas?" Dean remarked impatiently. "Let's hit the road, saddle up your time-traveling pony, get those wings flapping; we need to go find Sam."

"Quiet Dean," the Angel ordered.

Dean retreated. Castiel had almost slipped in to his "Angelic" voice. The harmonics of the order still vibrated in the air.

Bobby reached over and pulled Dean away. "I think you better back off, boy. Your Angel buddy is too busy right now to make sure that you're out of his way if he decides to cut loose."

Dean merely nodded and the two humans moved closer to the open archway. If Castiel decided to go full out Angel on them they wanted some place to run.

What followed were long tense minutes of complete silence. The Angel was motionless and the air shook with the high pitched harmonic resonances left behind plus an electric feeling that tickled invisible fingers against the exposed skin of the two men. Bobby rolled his sleeves down his arms to cover the flesh and Dean did the same. Something was in the air. Something neither man had experienced before but they were both sure it was Castiel who was creating the phenomena.

The feeling diminished, fading away to an almost-not-there tingle and Castiel finally moved. The Angel straightened and turned to look at the two men.

"I have found Sam," he said. "I have also found a possible cause of his transmutation. We should go now, as quickly as we can. Sam is in possible danger and night is falling"

He reached for Dean and the hunter walked forward. Laying two fingers against Dean's forehead both of them disappeared. Bobby was alone. He went to his desk, sat down, grabbed a book, and resigned himself to a hopefully short wait.


	6. Chapter 6 - On An Angel's Wings

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The Supernatural characters belong to Kripke Enterprises and the CW, not me. No money is being made from this story. It is for entertainment only.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

 **Flight through Time**

 **Chapter 6**

 **On An Angel's Wings**

 **From Chapter 5**

 _Dean merely nodded and the two humans moved closer to the open archway. If Castiel decided to go full out Angel on them they wanted some place to run._

 _What followed were long tense minutes of complete silence. The Angel was motionless and the air shook with the high pitched harmonic resonances left behind plus an electric feeling that tickled invisible fingers against the exposed skin of the two men. Bobby rolled his sleeves down his arms to cover the flesh and Dean did the same. Something was in the air. Something neither man had experienced before but they were both sure it was Castiel who was creating the phenomena._

 _The feeling diminished, fading away to an almost-not-there tingle and Castiel finally moved. The Angel straightened and turned to look at the two men._

" _I have found Sam," he said. "I have also found a possible cause of his transmutation. We should go now, as quickly as we can. Sam is in possible danger and night is falling"_

 _He reached for Dean and the hunter walked forward. Laying two fingers against Dean's forehead both of them disappeared. Bobby was alone. He went to his desk, sat down, grabbed a book, and resigned himself to a hopefully short wait._

 **Chapter 6**

Sam moved carefully through the tall grass. After having run for what seemed like forever finally Avebury rose up right in front of him. Great grey stones, stones of all shapes and sizes, created a huge circle. The entire site was circled with a crudely dug trench all the way around except for the place where the ceremonial high road entered from the East. This passageway was also lined with the great stone sentinels.

Sam crouched low and scrambled up the slope to the nearest of the Saracens. He crouched at the base trying to hide from the surrounding fields. He was still very aware of the Roman soldiers who he assumed were most likely looking for him now. However he was also concealing himself from another danger just discovered. In the very center of Avebury were a group of men dressed in long tunics. They were all elderly men with long hair and beards. IN their hads were man tall staffs.

They were gathered around a central stone which Sam didn't remember from his ancient history classes. This was a new piece of history completely unknown to modern scholars. As he watched the elders either began or continued a ritual. They chanted and moved slowly in what is known as the deiseal, the sunwise or clockwise direction. Deiseal has been described throughout the history of magic as the "Prosperous Course" and would confirm a blessing by circling three times in a clockwise direction.

For just a moment Sam was thrown back into Bobby's library on a hot summer day. He would lay on the floor and carefully turn the pages of one of Bobby's ancient tomes. Same smiled remembering Bobby's pet name for his books. Somewhere in the past Sam had read about this aspect of ancient ritual. These men were, he suspected, Druids and he was watching a sacred rite.

AS the three Druids continued their chanting Sam felt like he was falling asleep. The droning chant was entrancing him. He felt the need to fight but his bones wanted to lay down on the sweet earth and rest. Something was dragging at him. He was being called. His eyes began to close and his breath began to slow.

Unexpectedly a hand was laid upon his shoulder. A familiar voice was calling him back from dreams of slowly flowing waters.

"Come on, Sam." His brother called. "Come back to me, Sam." It sounded like Dean. He wanted to respond but his head felt so heavy and his voice would not respond.

There was a flutter and a cool breeze passed over his face. "Wake up, Sam," another voice called. It took a moment but Sam decided it sounded like Castiel.

After all these days wandering in a world where he did not belong these voices sounded like home. They sounded like safety. He fought the Druid's spell. It took tremendous effort but he forced open his eyes. They first thing he saw was his brother's face; concerned, worried and much too close for comfort.

"Dean?" he whispered.

Looking beyond his bother he saw Castiel on guard. The Angel pulled his blade from that mysterious hiding place all Angels seemed to have and stepped over Sam's prone body with the blade raised in warning.

Dean also stood as if protecting Sam from some danger. Sam managed to get his head to flop to the side and saw that the Druids had found them.

Castiel was barking at the Druids in evidently their own language. Sam saw Dean pull one of his blades from his sleeve. The Druids sounded fierce and demanding. Their voices were raised and one of them was making mystical passes in the air. Sam could feel a burning slash on his body each time the man waved an arm.

He moaned and Dean looked down. 'Castiel, make him stop. He's hurting Sam."

The Angel began to change his voice and overtones of his true voice began to shake the air. The Druids backed away and Castiel stalked after them.

The lead Druid began to dance. He whirled and sparks flew up when his staff struck the center stone. A different kind of pain hit Sam. Dean kneeled down and gathered his brother into his arms.

"Make him stop, Cas," Dean pleaded. "Whatever he's doing is pulling Sam away from me."

The clash of the Angel and the Druids grew more intense. The lead Druid was driving into a frenzy. Castiel responded with ever more Enochian commands. It was a metaphysical battle, a battle of conflicting realities and Sam was the prize.

Human flesh could only stand the harmonics of an Angel's voice for a short period of time. The old men broke when their ears began to bleed. The chief Druid grabbed at his head as if it was about to split open and his dance faltered. Castiel stepped even closer to his opponents and the three Druids backed away. With his blade raised and beginning to shine Castiel drove the three men from the sacred circle. Their power was broken and Sam relaxed into Dean's arms.

The glamour began to pass. Sam's true form was peeking through the Sun Child's form. The golden armbands began to sink into Sam's flesh. Dean thought he saw flashes of color move under Sam's skin. Dean held his brother even more closely and whispered comforting words.

Castiel returned to the brothers. Dean looked up at the Angel.

"Just what the hell was that about, Cas?

The Angel glanced about. "This place is not safe, Dean." Castiel looked down at Sam as the man began to appear through the façade of the child even more clearly. "We should leave just as soon as his form stabilizes. The further away the Druids get the easier it will be for Sam to hold on to his true form."

In a few minutes Sam seemed to be holding on to the current reality somewhat more firmly. Dean gathered his now very large little brother into his arms as much as he was able. Castiel approached with the good old magic fingers extended and a moment later they were in Bobby's living room in South Dakota.

_..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._..-.._

Bobby Singer was startled by the sudden appearance of the time traveling trio and dropped the book he was holding in surprise.

"Good to see you guys back again," he grunted as he leaned over to pick up the book. "I suppose knocking first is not a possibility, is it?"

Castiel tilted his head and glanced over at Dean. Dean smiled, happily home again.

"Don't worry about it Cas. I'll explain Bobby's humor later. Let's get Sam on the couch. My arms are going to break off."

In a moment Sam was stretched out on Bobby's couch and everyone else found a chair.

"Alright now, Cas." Dean opened. "What the hell happened and, more importantly, is it likely to happen again?"

"Did you really go to Avebury?" Bobby asked in wonder. "I always wanted to see that place."

"A very unusual set of circumstances sent Sam back to the first Century A.D. to the land around the Avebury Standing Stones Circle. It is very hard to imagine anything like this happening again."

"Go on," Dean encouraged the seraph.

Sam rolled off his back and almost off the couch, letting them all know he was now joining the conversation. "Yeah, Cas, what was that all about? Why was I some kid? Dean, what happened to the witches? How long have I been out of it?"

"Sam," Dean laughed and handed his brother a beer. "Stuff that in your face and listen. Too many questions, bro. Give your mouth a rest."

Castiel gather their eyes back on him. "First of all the witch started the fuse of coincidence that lead to the final explosion. Even though she had no idea what she was doing she did have some native powers of which she was unaware. When the old witch was killed her power was released into the mix. At the same time, far back in history, some Druid priests were desperately trying to summon a being they called the Sun Child. The witch had released Sam's soul on to a plain of existence that the Druids were also accessing. Sam's soul became trapped in the Druid's spell and he was drawn to the world around Avebury as a manifestation of the Sun Child."

There was silence in the room and then Bobby Singer said "Wow."

"Wow, indeed, Mr. Singer." Castiel said solemnly. "The only part that I have not yet understood is who spoke the words of power that the Witch heard. There may be some undisclosed player involved. Perhaps one of the other angels, perhaps a hell spawn, I don't know. It would be some entity that is playing a part in the Winchester story; I don't know and I don't know if I will ever find out."

"We just never get a break, do we?" Dean complained. "You said these Druids were desperate. Why were they desperate? What did they expect this Sun Child to do?"

"You need to understand the times, Dean." Castiel said quietly. "It was the first Century A.D. The Romans had just slammed their feet on the necks of the Picts. The Druids were being driven from their homes, from their people. Many of them fled into the woods where they felt safe. Their world which had endured for a thousand years was being destroyed. They had only their faith to turn to."

The Sun Child was an old legend of a boy who grew into a great warrior. The Druids were looking for a leader and they pinned their hopes to this legend of warrior who would save their people, their way of life.

The failure of these Druids to summon the Sun Child had great consequences for the Druids. By the end of the second century A.D. they were gone. Their culture was lost."

"Well, that's too bad." Dean said. "They still can't have my brother. Why is it always the Winchesters who have to take it in the neck?"

Castiel smiled on his friend. "Dean, why are you surprised? You and Sam have been marked since birth. Your bloodline has been a part of the supernatural world going back to the beginning of your species. You two attract this type of interest from the spiritual plain.

However, I could not let this particular incursion from the spiritual plain go unchecked. If the Druids had been able to hold Sam in that world then the world we know now would never have come to pass. On a personal level, God's Angels could possibly have become irrelevant if the Druid world view had prevailed. Christianity itself will have never flourished in a world full of magic.

In those Druids we saw today there was a seed carried forward. We may have just been witnesses to one of the greatest of legends. The chief Druid could have been the pattern on which Merlin the Magician was founded. The Sun Child legend was changed and moved to a different time and in that time the Sun Child's name became Arthur."

Castiel stopped speaking and sat down with his friends. "As you can see, I had to bring Sam back. This entire reality depended upon Sam Winchester being rescued."


End file.
